


You got a dirty mind, Cochise.

by orphan



Series: Nerd Boys and Wendibros [3]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BDSM, Butt Plugs, Come Eating, Consensual Non-Consent, Dick Growth, Dirty Talk, Gags, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Restraints, Rutting, Urethral Play, Wendigo Josh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5159837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan/pseuds/orphan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris catches Josh during rutting season, ties him up, and plans to sell his sweet wendigo cum on eBay as an aphrodisiac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I still can’t believe you grew fucking antlers."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is pure, unadulterated sin, and Josh is like a Swiss Army Knife of mating season tropes I stg.
> 
> Dedicated to all y'all who mentioned you liked the monster smut from the last fic. This is literally the most graphic thing I've ver written so, uh. Enjoy?

He’s naked when he wakes up, arms pulled tight above his head, knees spread and tied to something hard. The position is awkward, and it should hurt. Should hurt a human, at any rate.

Josh hasn’t been human for a while.

So he aches, but not from the position. The ache is something more familiar, or at least something that’s been growing steadily more familiar these last few months; the hot heaviness between his thighs, the mad heady rush of rut. He’s desperately horny, because nowadays he always is; swollen dick arching up against his belly, engorged balls swinging down below. He wants to touch himself, to rub against something,  _anything_ , but when he goes to move all he ends up with is the sound of clinking chains and the soft tear of duct tape.

Josh growls, he can’t help it. Growls, and struggles against his bonds. The sounds echo dully in the space, a pitch black void even his night vision gives him nothing useful on. Just an empty room, empty except for him.

When the lights come on, he hisses from the pain, eyes slamming shut and chains rattling as he tries to pull back. The lights probably aren’t that bright, maybe no more than a strong fluorescent, but his vision is designed for darkness, now. The light is no longer his friend.

Somewhere behind him, he hears the sound of a door opening, then footsteps. Someone walks into the room, boots heavy on the hard floor, but it’s not the sound that causes a strangled keen to emerge from Josh’s throat. It’s the  _smell_ , thick and hot and  _human_. Male.

Delicious.

It makes Josh’s mouth water and his dick twitch. He knows that smell. Oh yes, yes he does.

“Well, look at you.”

The footsteps get closer, circle around, their owner coming to a stop in front of where Josh is hanging. He opens his eyes, or tries to; the world is nothing but bright glare and fuzzy outlines, his pupils pulled down into tiny pinpricks, and even that’s not enough. Still, he doesn’t need to see to know who’s crouched in front of him. He’s known Chris nearly his whole life.

“You were a pain in the ass to string up, you know that? Skinny motherfucker but you weight a ton. Must be these.” The Chris-blur reaches forward, above Josh’s head. He feels the pressure and the movement as his antler is grabbed, fondled.

“I still can’t believe you grew fucking antlers. Big ones, too.” Chris’ hand moves further down, over hard bone, down into Josh’s hair, rough fingers rubbing at the juncture between skull and antler.

Josh purrs, he can’t help it. Tries to choke the sound back but it’s hard, so hard, with his body so keyed up. He  _hungers_ , and not in the usual way.

Chris laughs. “God, look at you. Fucking rutting season. Crazy shit, man.” The fingers dig harder against his scalp, pressing flesh and pulling hair. It’s not quite the touch Josh wants but his body will make do with what it can get, hips thrusting forward as much as he’s able, given his restraints.

Suddenly, Chris’ hand moves. Is out his Josh’s hair and, oh fuck  _yes_. Is wrapped hard around his swollen balls. Hard enough to hurt, and it feels  _perfect_ , Josh’s head lolls back, a needy keen escaping his throat before he can stop it.

“And  _this_. I mean, seriously. What the  _fuck_  man? You didn’t have this in climbing class.”

Josh’s dick and balls have been getting bigger since the start of rut. And, go figure, because that’s Josh’s life now; most of the year he’s a hungry mouth and an empty belly, except come spring, when turns into a giant leaking dick looking for a hole.

“You know,” Chris says, conversationally. “I looked this up. Wendigo antler is supposed to be one hell of an aphrodisiac. Sells for a shitton on eBay, I swear to god. So I figure, what the hey. I know where to find me a real deal live wendigo. I come back up here, bag me one, tie it up, and I’ve got myself a million bucks come fall.” A pause, and rough fingers move from Josh’s balls up the wet shaft of his cock. He whimpers again, thrusting his hips. He’s so keyed up, so close  _all the time_ , and yet it’s not  _enough_.

“But then I saw you, and, boy are you in a state. So I got to thinking. Gotta be some other genuine wendigo parts work even better than boring ground-up horns. Maybe something I can get a bit more regular, like.” Chris’ finger finds the hole at the tip of Josh’s dick, presses hard against it.

Josh whines. He’s close, so close, and—

—and Chris takes his hand away.

Josh snaps at the retreating limb. A second later, his head is knocked sideways as Chris slaps his cheek. Hard, but it doesn’t hurt. Not much hurts Josh nowadays. Not like it used to when he was human. Now, the sensation of pain is… something else. Something different. One that goes straight into his dick, because doesn’t everything?

“Uh-uh,” Chris is saying. “Only bad boys bite. I don’t think you wanna be a bad boy, now do you, Josh? I think you want to be a good boy. A very, very good boy. And I think I’m gonna help you.” Chris is doing something while he’s speaking, reaching for something Josh can’t see against the glare. Then Chris’ hand is fisted in his hair again, hard enough to send more little spikes of pleasure-pain shuddering through his body. His head is wrenched back, his mouth gasping open in surprise.

This turns out to be a mistake, as something thick and hard is shoved into it, between his teeth.

“Got this custom made,” Chris says. “Pure titanium. Expensive, but I think even you’ll have trouble biting through it. Call it your good boy bridle.” As he talks, Chris slips the rest of the thing over Josh’s head, tightening the straps.

Josh growls again, thrashing his head and body back and forth. But Chris is right; he can’t bite through his new “bridle”. It sits behind his fangs, big and awkward, holding his mouth open.

“There,” Chris says. “No more biting.”

Josh just growls in response, the sound muffled behind the metal. A rope of drool escapes from between his teeth, and Chris laughs. “Weeping at both ends,” he says. “Suits you. Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty more of that before we’re through.”

Then Chris is moving again, leaning forward, rummaging around in something on the floor. He pulls something out of it, holding it up. Josh squints, trying to focus on what he’s being shown.

“I suppose you can’t see it in this light, huh?” Chris says. “Doesn’t matter. More fun for you.” There’s a plastic snapping sound, and Josh’s nostrils flare with the scent of something chemical and sharp. Lube.

There’s a trembling in his thighs, just slightly, his black heart racing behind the cold cage of his ribs. None of it is from exertion.

“Now,” Chris says. “Hold still. Don’t want to waste a single drop.”

He moves closer, one hand closing around Josh’s aching cock. Josh keens lowly, can’t stop the noise from escaping his throat. His hips thrust, which earns him a slap on the flank, short and sharp.

“Stop that. You’ll make this difficult.”

Josh growls, teeth coming down hard against his bridle. He considers disobeying—there’s a part of him that desperately wants to, is  _howling_  for it—but Chris’ hands are on his dick and it’s just  _so hard_  to think, to do anything. Not with the throbbing between his thighs and the feel of something cold and slick pushing against his slit.

Pushing  _into_  it.

Josh’s entire body goes rigid. Chris is pushing something into his dick. Something long and thick and metal. Josh can feel muscles he didn’t even know he had, working to try and push out the intrusion, but Chris’ fingers are merciless.  _Chris_  is merciless, sliding the object further and further inside.

Josh’s heart feels like it’s going to burst, his breath picking up in his chest until his lungs are heaving with it, shallow and erratic. The insertion seems to go on forever. It’s  _agony_ , the most excruciating thing he’s ever felt. The most intense. Pleasure-pain filling him from root to tip.

He can’t howl, not with the bridle jammed behind his teeth. He tries anyway, long ropes of drool spilling out between his teeth.

“There,” Chris says, after what feels like an eternity. There’s another feeling, a cold pressure behind the head of Josh’s cock. When Chris drops his hands, the intense  _fullness_  remains.

“That’ll stop you from spilling anything before I’m ready for you.”

Josh whines, snuffles. His hips thrust but there’s nothing to thrust into. He wants to cum, more desperately than he ever through possible, muscles in his dick working against the bar pushed down inside them. It feels enormous, that bar. Like a whole other cock, shoved right into his. Tears bead at the corner of his eyes. It’s too much. Too much, he—

A hot, rough hand, caressing against his cheek. Wiping tears and drool. “Just look at you,” Chris is saying. “So fucking…  _Fuck_.” There’s a tremor is Chris’ hand, just slightly. A tremor in his hand and in his voice. Josh feels the purr rising in the back of his throat. It’s never really gone away, just dimmed. Now, it’s back. He can’t stop it.

Chris’ hand drops, and Chris clears his throat, short and sharp.

“We-we’re not done yet,” he says. Then he’s reaching back down into his pile of tricks.

Josh closes his eyes. It seems easier. He’s trapped, tied down,  _pinned_  in the most intimate sense. Whatever Chris wants to do with him, he’ll do. No use fighting, just find the pleasure beneath he helplessness, ride it out until the end.

Something brushes his face, soft and furry. He smells leather.

“You’re already half animal,” Chris says. “I figured the only thing you’re missing is a tail. But we can fix that.”

Chis is moving, around behind him. More of the acrid lube smell hits Josh’s nostrils, and he suddenly has a sharp, clear image of what’s coming next. Kneeling on the floor, knees spread, trapped and open.

When he feels something cold press against his asshole, he doesn’t even fight it. Just tilts his hips, leaning back. Hungry.

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Thought so. Didn’t take you long, did it? Big, tough monster wendigo. And now look at you, whimpering little doe. What a good boy, we’ll have you trained up in no time.” Chris pushes the plug home; narrow at the tip, stretching as it widens at the base. It isn’t a small plug, and though anything would feel big right now this one feels  _enormous_ , heavy and metal. Chris pushes it in right up until the wide base narrows suddenly at the hilt. The stretched muscles of Josh’s ass close around that narrow shaft, hungry and holding the rest in place. Chris gives the whole things a few experimental wiggles, seemingly pleased with the fit. The plug is in, it’s not going to fall out. Josh’s thighs are shaking from the weight of it, heavy against muscles not used to holding in so much. His throat keens every time he feels the fur of his new “tail” brushing over-sensitized skin.

Chris stands, takes a step back, then to one side, then the other. Like he’s studying his handiwork. “Fuck,” he says, breathless and quiet. Then, louder: “Okay. One last thing, then I’m gonna leave you alone for a while. Let you ripen up real good for the harvest, y’know?” A hand caresses down Josh’s back, grabs hard against the slight swell of his ass. The press shifts the plug, pushes it in just that fraction harder. Josh’s sob gets choked back by the bridle.

Then Chris says: “Here we go.” And does… something to the plug. Something that sets the whole thing to buzzing, pulsing life.

Josh howls. He can’t help it, can’t help the sounds he’s making or the way his body jerks and shudders, useless against the chains. The plug is buzzing inside him, vibrating, filling him and  _pushing_  and wants to cum, wants to cum harder and more violent that he ever has in his life but he _can’t_ , not with the steel pin shoved down the centre of his cock. He sobs and thrashes, because that’s all he can do, every part of his body buzzing like he’s just stuck his dick into a light socket. He loses time, loses thought; loses everything but the feeling inside him, the pressure building, threatening to split him open.

He thinks Chris slaps him. On the ass, maybe a dozen times. Not gentle, but the sensation barely registers but for the way it jolts the buzzing plug against Josh’s tortured insides. Then Chris is saying something, maybe, and… and it’s all lost. All just a blur, dimmed out by ecstasy and spasming muscle.

Josh isn’t sure how long he hangs there, how long his body stays trapped in that terrible state, caught aching on the edge of orgasm. He howls until his throat is raw, drool running down his chin. He’s a mess, and inhuman bundle of nerves, just holes full of steel and two balls full of cum, waiting desperately for release.

He floats, mind shaken loose from his body, shutting down, unable to deal with the sensations. A warm, soft buzz, dark behind his eyelids, even despite the agonizing glare within the room. He thinks he might die like this. That it’d be okay. Die or go mad, turned into some kind of drooling fuckdoll. As far as fates go, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

He’s not sure how long it takes him to realize his right leg is free. Maybe seconds, maybe days. But when he does, it’s like plunging his mind into the snow. His whole body is still burning, still buzzing and shaking, and he thinks it must be that he has to thank. That somewhere in his thrashing, he’s torn himself partly free of his restraints. And if he can tear one bond…

Very slowly, Josh begins to collect the scattered pieces of himself. It’s hard, so very hard, and the thought makes him giggle. Because, yes. Hard is what he is, just the huge jut of his blocked-up dick, bobbing madly in the air. And it’s so difficult to think of anything but that, but of how much he wants to bury it into something soft and hot and wet. To thrust and cum and howl and—

_Soon,_  he promises himself.  _Get free, first._

He gets the second knee up easy. They’re taped down, thick straps of duct tape or something like it. Strong enough to hold a human, but Josh hasn’t been human for a while now. Maybe it’s time he reminded Chris.

His hands are fastened similarly, taped around a chain. He works them, twisting his wrists, feeling the tape pull free of steel and skin. He doesn’t completely free them, not like his knees. Just loosens them. Just enough.

When he’s happy with his work, he resettles himself back into position, knees spread like he was. His body is still a tangled humming mess of nerves, a warm pool of lust calling him back down into its red-black deeps, but Josh pushes back against it. Tries to focus on his breathing, keeping it slow and even, in and out. Just like his shrink taught another Josh, way back in another life.

Today’s Josh is pretty sure this isn’t what Dr. Hill intended his exercise to be used for. But, hey. Whatever works, right doc?

Time is a strange blur, just an exhausting push-pull of his body and his mind. Nothing Josh isn’t used to, and hasn’t that been his entire life? An endless war of scattered parts, twenty years of practice for this one fucked-up moment. He can do this, he can. Just a little bit of patience.

_Soon,_  his mind tells him, in between the rough edges of his breath.  _Soon._

When he hears the door open behind him, he can’t help the sharp-toothed smile that grows behind the bridle.

“I don’t hear you yowling in here,” Chris says, walking back into the room. His footsteps sound like a countdown: ten, nine, eight… “Don’t tell me you broke already?”

Another slap against his ass. The motion jolts the plug, disturbs the careful equilibrium Josh has established with his body. It feels like a tidal wave, yawning up to pull him down. He chokes it back, whole body shaking with the effort. With  _anticipation_  of what comes next.

_Soon. So very soon. Good boy. Such. A. Good. Boy._

Chris’ hand wraps around Josh’s throat, rough but not choking, just rubbing against his Adam’s apple. “Still purring,” Chris pronounces. “You horny motherfucker. You reckon you’re ready for the next part? Reckon we’ve got you full enough?” His hand moves down Josh’s neck, over his chest, fingernails scratching down one of the tight little nubs of nipple. Then he’s grabbing Josh’s dick, fingers barely managing to wrap around it as he pumps, once, twice. Josh gives him the whimper that he’s looking for, rocking his hips and playing along, docile and compliant. For the first time, he’s grateful for the cock pin. Wouldn’t want to blow the finale before the ending.

“Fuck yeah,” says Chris, hand moving down from Josh’s throbbing dick, down to cup the swollen globes hanging beneath. “You’re fucking ready. Feel this shit. Reckon I can milk this for hours.” He rolls the balls between his fingers, Josh doesn’t bother to bite back the sounds he makes at the sensation.

Then Chris is settling himself down on the ground, between Josh’s shaking thighs. Josh can hear sounds, the scrape of canvas, the dull clink of plastic against plastic. Whenever Chris is setting up, it doesn’t take him long. Then his hands are back on Josh’s dick, caressing down the length, circling the tight steel ring around the head.

“Seems a shame to take this off,” Chris says. “Maybe we’ll have to work something out. Train you up, keep you whimpering and tame. Unpin you twice a day for milking.” He seems to think for a moment. “Maybe once. Wouldn’t want you to have it too easy. And the rest of the time? The rest of the time, I’ll have  _this_ ”—Chris reaches around, squeezes Josh’s ass, wriggles the plug—“to play with. Whenever, and however I want. You think you’d like that? Turn the big bad monster into such a good little pet?”

Chris seems to expect a response, so Josh gives him one; a whimper, a purr. Anything he needs to do.

“Good boy,” Chris says. “Keep that up, maybe I’ll even get you a pretty little collar.” A pause, a laugh. “And one for your neck, too. If you like. But for now…” His fingers circle the steel ring that holds the pin secure. They do something, some fine little twist Josh is certain he couldn’t manage on his own. Because he loves his claws, he really does; there’s nothing more satisfying than feeling them tear into the hot, wet flesh of still-living prey. They’re beautiful, his claws. But fuck if they make fine motor skills fucking difficult.

Josh hears a metallic sort of snap, feels the tight band of pressure lifting from behind his glans. And then there’s nothing but Chris’ finger, holding the pin in place.

“Now,” says Chris. “You just be a good boy and—”

But Josh is done with being a good boy. Oh, how he is.

He lunges forward before Chris has even finished talking, the tape around his wrists tearing free. Dimly, he hears a metallic crash behind him, and wonders if he tore the chain out of the ceiling, too. There’s a part of him that wonders if he should be concerned by it, but that part feels so very far away, buried deep beneath the lust roaring through his veins and the feel of his claws closing around Chris’ throat.

Chris cries out, startled, as they both go crashing to the floor. He tries to struggle, tries to push Josh away, but Josh is so much stronger and so much faster Chris doesn’t stand a chance. All he manages in the struggle is to flip himself onto his stomach, to lift his ass up and rub his sweat-soaked skin against the hot pulse of Josh’s cock.

Chris isn’t wearing clothes. The realization nearly makes Josh cum then and there but, no. Not yet, he just has to hold back a moment longer. He can feel his dick pushing up against something hard, something that isn’t the soft flesh of Chris’ ass. Another plug, and Josh growls, muffled behind the bridle. He reaches down and pulls it out with his knuckles, claws folded back so he doesn’t make more holes in Chris than he intends to. There’s only one he needs right now, and it is slick and open and ready.

“Oh, fuck,” Chris is saying, babbling even as his hands scrabble uselessly against the floor. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…”

Josh slams inside. Then lets go.

The orgasm hits him from the tip of his antlers to the pads of his feet. A shuddering, hot release that seems to go on for eternity. Chris groans beneath him, tight little ass filled with Josh’s cum. He’s stopped struggling—realizes the futility, maybe—just lies there and takes it as Josh howls and pumps him full.

When it’s over, Josh lets his body fall heavy against Chris’ back, pressing them both against the concrete. Chris smells so good, his heart pounding so hard Josh can hear it, even above the stream of curses. Josh can tell the exact moment Chris realizes Josh isn’t going to pull out, isn’t going to left Chris up.

It’s all Chris’ own fault, really. Working Josh up into such a frenzy with his traps and toys. The plug is still in Josh’s ass, still buzzing away, and he’s still  _achingly_  aroused. He’s just cum, harder than he ever has in his existence, but this is rutting season, and he isn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

He starts to move, not gently.

“Oh,” Chris says. “Fuck.”

Josh grins behind his bridle, and takes it as an invitation.


	2. "But seriously? You gonna milk me and sell my cum on eBay?"

Chris passes out somewhere between the fifth and sixth time, which Josh figures is his cue to stop. He’s still got more in him but, well. Chris is unconscious, and he’s not a  _monster_. Not like that, anyhow.

Josh grins. His mouth still aches a little from the bridle, but they’ve long since stopped playing, and the thing is lying somewhere in the blank white glare of the room along with all the other toys. Chris really did get creative with his online shopping. Josh wonders how he’s going to explain the credit card bill to his mother. Therapy, perhaps. He certainly feels better than he has in… in a long time, really. Judging from the words Chris was howling before he passed out—things like “Fuck yes, Josh, oh god yes more fuck” and so on—he isn’t alone in his assessment.

“A-plus work, bro,” Josh mutters into Chris’ neck. “Very impressive.” He rubs his teeth against the soft flesh, his cock starting to soften for the first time in what feels like days. When he pulls it out, cum follows it in a rushing flood, and Josh has to laugh. God, they’re so fucked up. But maybe not in a way that’s bad.

Chris is on his back on the floor, his own cum coating his stomach and chest. Josh doesn’t see the point in letting it go to waste, and so shifts down to start to lick Chris clean. He has to be careful, so careful, but his tongue is long and it’s worth the effort.

This is the one thing he allows himself, the one little vice. The first time had been sort of an accident, Chris’ cum smells  _so good_ , because all of Chris does, and Josh had had some on his fingers and he’d licked it without thinking. He’d spent the next three days in something like a low-grade panic, obsessively checking every inch of his body, barely allowing Chris to touch him.

His paranoia had come to nothing; apparently, ancient Native American cannibalism curses don’t extend to swallowing, so now Josh indulges in it with gusto. It’s the only kind of human protein he’s allowed, sitting hot and warm in his gut, heady like a shot of aged scotch, and Chris is very generous with his supply.

Eventually, Chris’ belly is more spit than cum, so Josh pulls back. They’re both still sticky messes, so he stands up and stumbles his way through the too-bright room, only tripping twice over butt plugs and chains and who knows what else. He slams the light switch when he finds it, plunging the room into blissful dark, and doesn’t have to go far to find the stack of towels and bucket of water Chris has left by the door.

“You’re a fuckin’ boy scout, bro,” Josh tells no one in any state to listen. He cleans himself, then cleans Chris. The latter earns himself a half-hearted muttering, but Chris remains steadfastly out of it. He has a few bruises and a few light scratches, and Josh scowls at the latter. He tries to be careful, always, no mater how far gone he gets. Next time, he’ll try harder.

When they’re both some semblance of acceptable, Josh picks up Chris, and walks them out the room and into the cabin.

The place is nice and dark, and smells like them, and Josh feels light and warm and absolutely perfect. He’s humming when he tucks Chris into their bed, then ventures back out into the kitchen.

He’s  _ravenous_. Josh is always ravenous, but now in particular, and he knows Chris will be, too, once he rejoins the land of the living.

Josh investigates the fridge, squinting against the bright interior light. There’s an old milk jug on the top shelf, long since washed out and filled with the thick brown-red blood from Josh’s kills. It’s a bit of a mix—elk and deer, a bit of rabbit—and he chugs down half of it straight from the bottle. It’s a bad habit he’s had since he was a kid but, well. It’s not like Chris is going to suddenly get a craving for blood, so whatever. It saves having to wash a glass.

He grabs himself a plate, and spends a while rummaging through the fridge’s shelves, looking for something to put on it. He eventually decides on a deer liver—raw and just on the good side of ripe—plus a little pile of frozen rabbit hearts from the freezer. The liver is soft and rich, the hearts frozen and crunchy, and he pops a few of the latter into his mouth to stop the rumbling of his stomach and the drool that threatens to slip between his teeth. He  _hates_  drooling. He can deal with his mess of a mouth, but the drool? Ugh. No. No matter what Chris says, it is not cute.

Speaking of Chris, Josh grabs him a bottle of water and a leftover pizza; actually two halves of two leftover pizzas, laid out as one. The smell of the pizza makes Josh feel slightly nauseous, in the way all cooked meat and shit like cheese and bread and vegetables now make him nauseous. Chris once asked him if he missed it, “human food”, but Josh had just shrugged. Honestly, it’s hard for him to remember the specifics of things from Before. Most of what he gets are emotions; the bright-sharp grief he felt over his sisters, the warm-hot love-lust for Chris, the thick-grey fogs of his own depression. Pizza doesn’t evoke anything quite so specific, and so he doesn’t think about it.

Besides, why would he care about pizza when he has liver? Josh fucking  _loves_  liver. Like, crazy a lot. He’s aware this is a new thing, that he never ate offal as a human, let alone ate it raw, but whatever. Of all the things in his life that worry him—of hurting Chris, of Chris being hurt, of Chris  _leaving_ —his dietary choices aren’t even on the menu.

Josh makes his way back into the bedroom, leaving Chris’ pizza and water on the bedside table before sitting himself down on the floor to eat his own meal.  _No raw meat in the bed,_  is a rule, if only because it’s a pain in the ass to wash out bloodstains, and Josh can live with that.

He finds his phone, still in the pocket of his discarded jeans, and flicks through Facebook as he eats. Dad is posting photos from the set of some new sci-fi thing he’s producing, and it looks kind of cool, so Josh gives out some likes. Mom is talking about some daughter of a friend who’s just had a baby, Mike and Em are back together again for like the millionth time, Jessica is posting videos of Ashley ramming into things wearing Matt’s football helmet, Sam has sent a message asking when they can come back to the mountain for a visit.

Josh looks at that for a while, then types,  _Summer maybe. Now’s not a great time._  It’s awkward, because his claws mean he has to type with his knuckles, but it works.

Not long later, he gets a reply:  _that’s not what I heard ;)_

When Chris had mentioned, weeks back now, that the others wanted to see him, he’d had a weird sort of expression. Reserved, maybe, like he wasn’t sure what Josh’s reaction would be. There are things, Josh, knows he’s supposed to feel… some feeling over. Something bad. Because of what happened Before; the things he did, the things his friends did. It’s one of those gaps that makes it hard, sometimes; hard because he’s still human enough to know people expect him to react a certain way, but not human enough to have that reaction. Dealing with his parents is the worst, though it’s been getting better, mostly thanks to Chris (then again, mostly everything getting better is thanks to Chris). Maybe it’ll be the same with the others, Josh isn’t sure. He is sure that, if things don’t go well, he can easily avoid them.

He’s also well aware this isn’t the “correct” response, but it’s the one he has.

He’s pretty sure he won’t eat his friends, if they come back. The mountains have been crawling with non-Chris humans over the last few weeks, rebuilding the lodge, and Josh hasn’t eaten a single one. So he’s fine if his friends come to visit. Just… not in the middle of mating season. And if this answer had surprised Chris, had left Chris scowling in some emotion that seemed more directed at himself than anyone else, then it’s not Josh’s fault that humans are messy and inscrutable. He’d been like that, once. Nowadays, he has the hunger, the hunt, and the rut.

And he has Chris.

Chris, who’s stirring on the bed, rolling over and groaning. Josh scoffs the rest of his frozen hearts, then jogs his empty plate back to the kitchen, gives himself a quick clean while he’s at it. By the time he makes it back to the bedroom, Chris is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“I think you killed me,” he says, when Josh climbs into the bed next to him. “I’m dead. Totally dead.”

Josh nuzzles against Chris’ throat. “Smell pretty alive to me, bro,” he says. Their bed is soft and warm and smells like them. Josh closes his eyes, curls closer against Chris’ side, and doesn’t even attempt to dull his purr.

“Fuck,” says Chris.

“Okay,” says Josh. “Thought you might be a bit tired, though.”

Chris laughs, mostly at himself from the sound. “Oh man,” he says. “That was… Just. Oh, man.”

“You’re one kinky motherfucker, Cochise,” Josh says.

“You complaining?”

“Nah, bro.” A pause, then, “But seriously? You gonna milk me and sell my cum on eBay?”

“It would totally work!” Chris says, laughing. “People will buy all kinds of dumb shit if you tell them it’s some kind of ‘ancient remedy’ that’ll make them better at sex. We’ll be rich.”

“Already are,” Josh points out.

“Nah,” Chris says. “ _You’re_  already rich.”

“You need something, you know where my wallet is.” Money is such a human thing. They could survive well enough without it, but Josh won’t pretend life isn’t more comfortable with toilet paper and wifi.

“Gotta let a guy contribute, man,” Chris says. “Wouldn’t want your parents thinking I was just after your family fortune.” His voice is light but Josh can hear his pulse pick up beneath his skin, can smell Chris’ sweat beading above it.

“I… don’t think they’re worried about that, bro,” Josh says. “You gave up your life to take care of their monster son on a mountain in Bumfuck Nowhere, Canada. Think that buys you a lot of benefit of the doubt in the whole ‘Is He Just a Gold-digger?’ game.”

Josh doesn’t just think this, he knows it’s true. It’s one of the reasons he finds talking to his parents difficult. They’ve been trying to get him off the mountain ever since Chris found him. “But Chris is a Smart Boy, Don’t You This He Deserves a Chance at College?” is their latest gambit.

Josh tried to leave the mountain once, back when Chris had first found him. He’d gotten so sick he’d thrown up a pile of half-digested viscera in Chris’ car, then had been left shaking with delirium for a day and half afterwards. He hasn’t tried descending past the foothills since. But mom and dad never quite managed to get the whole “ancient Native American curse” thing down pat. They seem to be under the impression he’s just not trying hard enough to come home; not trying, and “dragging poor Chris into your alternate reality, as usual.” As if a mouth full of fangs and a pair of fucking antlers is some kind of tantrum he’s pulling just to spite them.

Point being, Josh’s parents definitely don’t think Chris is the bad guy.

Chris sighs. Josh gets the impression they haven’t had the last of this conversation. About the money, anyway, not so much the selling Josh’s bodily fluids. Though he figures this round of it is done when Chris tries to push himself up against the bedhead, fails miserably, and grunts, “Oh, Jesus my legs don’t work. I blame you. Help me sit up.”

Josh does this, then cuddles back down as Chris eats his pizza and guzzles water like he’s afraid someone will replace the mountain with a desert in the night.

“Fuck. I’m not going to be able to take a shit for a week,” Chris says, although this observation does nothing to stop him devouring the pizza. “How big do you think you’re going to get? If it’s much more, I don’t think you’re going to keep fitting.”

Josh tilts his hips, running a lazy hand down over his cock. He’s half-hard again, tip damp and leaking. Stroking himself feels good, so he continues, ignoring Chris’ scoffed, “Horny bastard.”

“Dunno. All new for me, too.” He sighs instead, closing his eyes and twisting so his nose is buried between Chris’ side and the sheets. It smells so  _good_ ; like them and like sex, and Josh is more than ready to add some extra flavor.

For most of the year, Josh knows, wendigo don’t run around with visible genitalia. For most of the year, that is, except the rut, when they do. Josh, who—thank whatever merciful god smiled upon him—kept his human dick even in his inhuman state, and yet is still apparently blessed with the seasonal spurt of growth along with the libido. He’s proud of his big swollen dick in the same deep, animal way he’s proud of his big antlers and big teeth and big claws. He’s not gonna apologize for being the biggest, baddest, most alpha male on the mountain.

Not gonna apologize, but that still doesn’t mean he won’t try and be sensitive to the limitations of Chris’ frail human body.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, man,” Josh mutters. “We’ll figure something out.” He rocks into his own hand, lazy and lustful. Purrs a little louder when he feels one of Chris’ pizza-grease-stained hands run back through his hair, rubbing at the bases of his antlers.

There’s a ceramic clink and Chris puts the empty plate back on the nightstand, followed by the dull thunk of the water bottle. Then his hands are pulling against Josh’s shoulders, urging him up.

“Come on, then,” Chris says, grinning. “Dinner wouldn’t be complete without my favorite dessert.” A pause, then, “Not to mention I better get me my daily dose of your sweet, sweet aphrodisiac cum if I want to keep up with you.”

Josh can’t stop the pleased noise his throat makes at the invitation, and he’s on his knees and straddling Chris’ hips in an instant. Chris opens his mouth, eyes peering up, half-lidded, and the sight is almost enough to make Josh cum then and there.

He does cum only a few licks later, which takes the edge off enough for him to settle as Chris sucks him properly, languid and slow, fingers slipping around and into his ass to massage him from the inside as he does. When Josh looks down, he notes he is getting a little big for Chris’ mouth. Still, Chris is giving it his best shot, and Josh can hardly complain at the treatment, not with pleasure coiling warm and heavy in his belly.

When he cums the second time, Chris drinks every drop.

Afterwards, they settle back into the bed, a tangle of limbs and fluttering hearts. Josh can feel the heaviness creeping into his limbs he knows means sleep is lurking somewhere close behind. He knows he should shower, brush his teeth, that sort of thing. Should, but doesn’t. It would mean moving, mean shifting his skin away from Chris’ skin, settled close within their nest and, frankly, he just doesn’t want to. Neither does Chris, by the way he also isn’t moving. So Josh just lies there, listening to the steady reassuring pump of Chris’ heart, until dawn breaks over the mountain, and hum of Chris’ snore lures him into sleep.


End file.
